


Memento Mori

by sapphireswimming



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bobby Singer's House, Desperate Sam Winchester, Family, Gen, Gen Work, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Season/Series 03, Seasons: A Supernatural Fan Fiction Anthology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphireswimming/pseuds/sapphireswimming
Summary: Dean's time is running out and none of the books in Bobby's basement seem to be able to help.
Relationships: Bobby Singer & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Kudos: 3





	Memento Mori

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12857850/1/Memento-Mori
> 
> Written in 2017 for the winter section of _Seasons_ , a fic-only Supernatural zine of canon, gen oneshots. Thanks to The Cinderninja, dannyboymw, and Laora for beta-ing
> 
> Spoilers for the overarching plot of season 3

Sam slammed his fist onto the book.

Within seconds, Dean materialized in the kitchen doorway. "Okay," he muttered, grabbing Sam's shirt and trying to pull him out of the rickety chair, "that's it."

Sam twisted out of his grip, refusing to be moved.

"Dude," Dean huffed. "You're not even reading anymore. You're just staring like you're trying to make it catch on fire or something."

"You burn one of my books, Sam, and I'll give you KP duty for the rest of your natural life," Bobby threatened from the corner as he calmly turned the page of his English-Japanese dictionary.

Dean turned, but Bobby shrugged unapologetically. "Just sayin'."

"Look, Sam," Dean leaned over the book his brother was still obstinately pretending to read. "You've been doing this all day. And yesterday and the day before that…"

"It's all you've been doing since you got here," Bobby groused.

Dean's fingers worried the edges of the worn leather cover. "I'm not asking you to go have a night out on the town…"

"You're not?" Sam snorted, his words muffled by the pages.

"No," Dean sighed, sliding a hand over the text until his ring came to a stop beneath Sam's nose. "I just want you to realize that at some point this becomes useless. You guys have been through everything in about six different languages and come up with _nada_."

Sam's mouth pressed into an even tighter line.

"I'm not… blaming… this isn't your fault," Dean said. "That's just the cards we've been dealt this hand. And I get that. But you could spend a couple lifetimes translating this stuff and we don't have time." He licked his lips before correcting, "I don't have time. And I don't want you to spend what's left of my year sitting here like a zombie librarian, okay? That's not gonna help anybody."

When Sam raised his head, it was to look around Dean. "You gotta have something else here, Bobby," he pleaded. "Something we haven't been through."

Bobby slid a piece of notebook paper into the dictionary. "I'm sorry, Sam, but you know this is everything I have."

"There has to be more," Sam said, swallowing hard as he continued ignoring Dean.

"Sam," Bobby said. "I cleaned out every library in the state and I'm calling in every favor I can. But most hunters don't cart libraries around in their trunks and, for some reason, they don't like bailing mid-hunt to hand over their notes. Not that anyone's got info on getting out of a demon deal, though, 'cause that's something I would have heard about it by now if they did, don't ya think?"

He pushed out of his chair and stomped into the kitchen before Sam could answer. Sam flinched as he banged his already-dented pot on the stovetop and dropped tin cans on the counter with loud metallic _clanks._

"Think you kinda pissed him off," Dean chuckled. When Sam refused to meet his eyes, he sighed. "I know you're both doing as much as you can. More than anyone could ask for."

"Dean," Sam brokenly began. "I'm going to…"

"I know," Dean said when his brother trailed off. "I know and believe me— no one wants to find a way out of this deal more than I do. But if there wasn't anything useful in the books the first time, there isn't going to be anything now, okay? Waste of time. Move on. If you don't want to hang out with me then at least eat. Sleep."

"For tomorrow we die?" Sam asked with his eyes closed and a suspiciously watery smile.

"Dude, I'm the one who's dying," Dean corrected. "And I still got some time. Come on," he said, guiding his brother out of the chair. "Up you get."

"Where…?" Sam asked as he stumbled around the desk.

"For now, the kitchen." Dean smiled. "I smell chili."

"Don't know why I bother cooking for you two," Bobby grumbled as they came through the open doorway.

"Right," Dean said, grabbing a can off the counter to get a better look at the label. "Your gourmet chili. Can't imagine why you go to all the trouble of taking it out of the can and heating it up for us."

Bobby snorted despite himself.

"Hey… Bobby," Sam started.

"I know what you're gonna say, Sam," Bobby preempted the apology, eyes firmly fixed on the pot he was stirring, "and you don't have to say that to me. But you're right… we've hit a dead end here. So I think you two should take a breather."

Sam was about to protest before he continued, "Just while I try to get my hands on some more stuff for you to go through. In the meantime, you might as well do something useful."

Dean grabbed three beers from the fridge. "You got something useful for us to be doing?" he asked, passing them out.

"Yeah, actually. Something you might both like."

"What's that?" Sam asked cautiously.

"There's a journal I saw once… talked about some really weird stuff I've never heard of since. Might be something in there if you can find it."

"Alright," Dean said, twisting off the cap and tossing it into the trash. "Where is it?"

"Two bit town in Oregon."

"You don't have a copy?" Sam asked, dismayed.

Bobby shook his head. "Hunter wouldn't even let me take a peek."

"How do you know what's in it, then?"

Bobby stared at him, unimpressed. "'Cause all I needed was one look when the guy's back was turned to see it was worth looking into."

"So why didn't you?" Sam demanded.

Bobby snorted. "That bastard's so paranoid that the moment he knew I'd even seen the thing, he stashed it in some secret vault."

"You didn't break in?"

"Hey, I may be stupid but I'm not stupid," Bobby retorted. "And there was no real need to have it, then. If you're hell bent on finding it, though …" He paused, winced at his poor wording, and turned back to the stove. "You can try. Place is a supernatural hotspot anyway from what I could tell, so it wouldn't be a wasted trip even if you didn't find the thing."

"I'm game," Dean shrugged, looking to his brother who nodded eagerly at the new potential lead.

"Good," Bobby nodded. "Get you boys out of my hair for five whole minutes," he grumbled.

Dean laughed, "Oh, you know you love us, Bobby."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, trying to shrug it off. "Get some bowls, you idiot."

Dean set down his beer and opened the cupboard. "You're gonna miss me when I'm gone," he grinned as he grabbed the dishes, only to freeze in place once he realized what he'd said.

Sam and Bobby had frozen too, and Dean scrambled for a way to turn it into the joke he'd meant instead of the morbid reminder it had become, but couldn't find anything to say.

"No chance of that," Bobby finally said thickly, and when Dean and Sam looked up at him, he smiled between them—gruff and sincere and a little watery. "You won't be gone long enough. Sam will make damn sure of that."


End file.
